


Granger

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - everyone except for Hermione is a Muggle, Bullying, Cruelty, Cyber-Bullying, Easter Eggs, Gen, Non-graphic description of sexual assault/humiliation, References to horror movies/series, Torment, everyone dies, horror themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Hermione Granger's life is torment. She attends a posh school where nobody likes her, and everyone is cruel.When she is forced to attend school camp, things escalate - with brutal and violent consequences.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Sunday: Four Days Remaining

**Author's Note:**

> **Folks, this fic contains themes which may be triggering for some readers. I implore you to heed the tags. The main elements of the story deal with serious and prolonged bullying, including cyber-bullying and sexual assault. If this is something that is a difficult topic for you, I urge you to proceed with caution. If it's something you'd rather not read at all, I completely understand.**
> 
> Warnings aside, if you're a fan of horror novels/books/series, there are a handful of easter eggs scattered throughout the fic - let me know if you recognise any!
> 
> Thanks to CourtingInsanity for her beta skills and feedback!

“Mum, don’t make me go! Please!”

“Hermione, we’ve been _over_ this. It’s part of the school curriculum. You need to attend.”

“Just say I’m sick! Say a relative died! _Anything!_ I just know they’ll do something awful to me if I have to go,” the teenage girl pleaded with her mother, even though she knew doing so was futile. Ever since the notice had come home from Hogwarts Academy announcing the week-long camping trip as part of the health module for her twelfth year, she had been dreading the excursion.

Hermione had won a scholarship to the prestigious private school at the end of her primary education, coming top out of the hundreds of students to sit the entrance exam that would offer one lucky applicant a place at the ancient and renowned institution. Places at the school were highly coveted, so much so that the most prestigious and wealthy families from around England would enroll their children at birth, in order to be sure their offspring would be afforded the opportunity to attend when they came of age.

Unfortunately, the ‘scholarship kids’ as students in Hermione’s situation were scathingly referred to by their peers, were almost always from less well-to-do families and so invariably found themselves outcasts among the sea of wealthy students from well-known and influential backgrounds. The only way a scholarship kid could have anything resembling a happy experience at the school was if they were also good at sports, and Hermione was horrid at all of them. Her mind may have been sharp and well-honed - an athlete in its own right - but when it came to physical education, she admitted she was a dunce.

Despite her best efforts, she was uncoordinated and clumsy, her movements sluggish, and her reaction times were slow. While she tried her best to keep up a level of physical fitness, she still found that too much exertion made her lungs burn and her muscles throb. Coupled with her bookish nature, the fact she consistently earned the highest grades in her year, and her tendency to be the first to answer questions in class, Hermione had been constantly bullied and harassed by the other students almost since her arrival at the school.

Now it was the night before the dreaded camp, and Hermione was truly afraid of what would happen to her if she went. It was a tradition amongst the students to play pranks - often mean ones - on the less popular kids during the week spent away, and she was certain she would be the target of more than one plot.

Her mother, Monica, sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione. In order for you to pass the year and retain the scholarship, you need to go. You know as well as I that if you don’t attend, you’ll fail the year and won’t be permitted to return for year thirteen.”

“Would that really be so bad?” Hermione asked desperately. “Couldn’t I just transfer to a public school for my final year? I wouldn’t even mind having to repeat this year if it meant I could avoid going to this thrice-cursed camp!”

“I know it’s been… _difficult_ … for you at that school, sweetheart—” 

Hermione scoffed. Difficult? _Difficult_ was a gross understatement. It was _torture_.

“—but if you want to be considered for the Oxford scholarship program and study medicine, graduation from Hogwarts is your best bet. You know your father and I could never afford to send you there any more than we could have afforded to send you to Hogwarts without that scholarship. And with the new rules around student loans, you—”

“—don’t qualify for that, either. You and dad earn just over the threshold. I know, mum,” Hermione said quietly, her shoulders dropping in resignation. “I know. Hogwarts is my only chance at becoming a doctor.” Her parents owned and ran a small corner shop; although it earned enough to cover their expenses and have a small nest egg, it wasn’t nearly enough that they could afford the types of costs that came with private education.

“Just… try to stay near the teachers and parent helpers as much as you possibly can,” Monica advised. Hermione nodded silently, not bothering to tell her mother that the teachers—perhaps with the exception of Ms. McGonagall, her physics teacher and head of her year—regarded her not much more favourably than her peers, and they would rarely intervene when they witnessed someone bullying her.

“I suppose I’d better finish packing.” Hermione sighed. She turned away from her mother and advanced slowly up the stairs to her room, her heart heavy and her stomach twisting with dread.

Up in her room Hermione sat, idly twirling her wand, in between the spells she was using to fill her suitcase with everything the list required. Unbeknownst to everyone, she was a witch. Her parents were magical, too. They had worked hard to keep this fact hidden from the world. Despite the advances of the twenty-first century, most people didn’t believe in _actual_ magic - not really. They thought it was all pretend, the stuff of books and movies, and that anyone who claimed to actually be able to perform it was either a lying charlatan or just a very clever trickster using misdirection and sleight of hand to amaze and delight an audience. 

Anyone who was discovered to be able to perform genuine magic, to cast spells and brew potions, would have no kind of peaceful life. Such a person would be constantly hounded by the media and members of the public to perform tricks and solve their problems. They would be threatened by some and feared by others. It was even possible they might be snatched by a government organisation and weaponised, used for political and monetary gain. So, it was safer to pretend they were ordinary, mundane humans going about their lives.

Once upon a time, her parents told her when she was little, there had been a special school where magical children like Hermione could go, but magical births were so few now that the school had been forced in the late eighties to close due to lack of numbers, and ever since, parents had been left to teach their children how to control and channel their magic as best they could. Wands, the primary way of achieving this end, were passed down through the generations and carefully protected, as it was now exceedingly difficult to acquire a new one. Not only were they rare, but they were prohibitively expensive, and only the most wealthy of magical families could afford such a luxury.

Hermione’s wand was vinewood, with a dragon heartstring core—how amazed she had been to discover dragons were _real_ —and had belonged to her paternal grandmother, Celeste Granger. The way it thrummed gently beneath her fingers and her connection to it always brought her peace; but this could only be achieved at home as, naturally, she was forbidden from leaving the house with it. She didn’t know how she would cope with being parted from her wand for an entire week when even a single school day could seem like an impossibly long time to endure its absence. Still, there was nothing for it. She must leave it on her nightstand, as she did every morning before leaving for school. 

Hermione longed for the day she would complete her secondary schooling, a little over a year away now, and finally be able to conceal her wand about her person as her parents did theirs without worrying it would be discovered by her peers or teachers. But, until then, she was expected to carry on as best she could and continue to control her magic without it. She glanced at the clock and saw it was getting late. She supposed she should get some sleep. With a final wave of her wand, she sent the last of her things to the open suitcase, which then shut itself with a snap. Rising, she went to bid her parents goodnight.


	2. Monday: Three Days Remaining

The next morning, Hermione and her parents arrived in their modest Ford hatchback to a scene of happy chaos. Students clutching their luggage, the day kids like Hermione with their parents in attendance, swarmed around several large coaches waiting to take the year twelve students to the camp where they would be staying for the next week. Harried teachers pushed through the throng with lists in their hands, checking off the names of their assigned students as they arrived and attempting to fob off parents’ last-minute questions and requests. Students shouted excitedly to their mates, and there was a great deal of jostling and good-natured teasing between groups.

Hermione watched in trepidation as her father, Richard, pulled her luggage from the boot of the car. Everyone else seemed happy to be going. The camp was considered by most students to be a holiday of sorts, a mid-term break from lessons and homework, where they could let off a bit of steam and get away from the rigid rules of uniforms and order. For them, it was fun, but for Hermione, it was sure to be a solid week of being trapped with her peers with no reprieve. As the time to depart neared, her unease grew until her stomach was a roiling mass of goo. She was grateful she had avoided breakfast, otherwise she was certain she would have vomited it back up in front of the entire year. The last thing she needed was yet another thing for them to torment her about.

Finally, Ms McGonagall, shouting to be heard over the hum of activity, gave the order for parents to complete their final farewells and students to board the coaches. Hermione turned to her parents, giving them one final hug. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

“I know, love,” her father answered. “Just… do the best you can. It’s one week, and it will be hard, but it will be over before you know it and you’ll never have to go through it again.”

“The year is almost over,” her mother reminded her. “Once you return, you’ll prepare for and take your exams, and then you’ll have the whole of the summer holidays ahead of you. The time will simply fly by.”

Hermione nodded, though privately she thought this coming week would be the longest of her life. “Goodbye,” she said quietly, pulling away. She felt tears threatening and blinked rapidly to banish them, lest one of her peers see. She watched as they got into the car and joined the queue of departing parents, then turned to face the rapidly thinning crowd of students climbing aboard the coaches. 

Spotting Ms McGonagall supervising, she quietly approached the woman and stood next to her. 

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” her teacher greeted.

“Good morning, Ms McGonagall,” Hermione replied quietly. She fidgeted nervously, not wanting to join the others but knowing she must.

“Would you like to sit beside me?” the older woman asked kindly, sensing her disquiet.

“Yes, please,” Hermione answered gratefully. At least if she was sitting beside the one teacher who seemed to like her, she could have a peaceful trip there. She boarded behind her, trying to avoid eye contact with the others.

McGonagall instructed one of Hermione’s classmates, Millicent Bulstrode, to move to another seat so that it might free up two together near the front of the vehicle. “Teacher’s pet,” Millicent hissed at Hermione as she moved to sit a few seats behind.

Hermione took the seat beside the window, and McGonagall slid in beside her. The principal, Albus Dumbledore, who had been overseeing the operation, briefly boarded to confer with McGonagall and confirm all students were present before moving on. After a few more moments, the doors swung shut and the coach jerked forward, increasing Hermione’s sense of impending doom. She could hear Millicent whispering to her seat neighbour about her, and tried to ignore it, settling in for the long trip.  
  


* * *

  
When they arrived some two hours later, passing first under a canopy of trees that lined either side of the small gravel road, Hermione couldn’t help but be enchanted by her environment. It looked so… peaceful. The coaches pulled in to a wide-open area just beyond the gates and opened their doors, disgorging the occupants. Hermione hurried to be one of the first off, stepping quickly away from the doors and towards the luggage compartment. Despite her efforts to keep out of the way, she felt someone shove her from behind. 

“I saw you getting Millie kicked out of her seat,” drawled the voice of a boy named Draco Malfoy. “Riff-raff like you don’t deserve any seat, let alone one already claimed by someone better than you. You should have been made to sit in the aisle.”

“Sitting in aisles is a safety hazard,” she retorted before she could stop herself. “It wouldn’t have been allowed.”

Malfoy sneered at her. “Always got something to say, don’t you, Granger? Think you’re smarter than everyone else?”

Before she could reply, McGonagall spoke up from behind. “That will be quite enough, Mr Malfoy.” Her tone brooked no disagreement, and the boy sauntered away after shooting Hermione a murderous glare. “Go and collect your luggage, Miss Granger, and join the others. You’ll be assigned a cabin shortly.” 

With a silent nod, Hermione moved over to do as she was told.

While she waited, Hermione glanced around at the place which was to be her home away from home for the next week. To her right was a large building which she surmised must be a dining hall, and to her left was a path leading towards a small jetty, which jutted out over a sparkling blue lake. The immediate area was bordered by trees, and through them, she could see smaller buildings dotted about which were clearly the cabins in which they would be sleeping. Directly in front of her, surrounded by a circle of logs cut in half with their sides sanded smooth to create seats, was a large fire pit. She could hear the sounds of birds singing and cicadas chirping. It really _was_ beautiful, and if she had been in any company other than that which she found herself, she supposed she would be excited.

The screech of a door caught Hermione’s attention, and she turned to see two uniformed people, a man and a woman, both who appeared to be middle aged, exit the large building and move towards the giant fire pit. They stopped in the middle and waited for the chatter to die down and attention to focus on them. 

“Good afternoon, Hogwarts students!” the woman called cheerily. “I’m Sue Snell and this is my partner, Tommy Ross! We are the owners of Camp Chamberlain. Welcome. The dining hall is over here.” She pointed to the large building; Hermione had indeed been correct.

Sue described the layout of the rest of the camp and outlined the rules: Don’t wander into the woods alone, stay on the designated paths, don’t leave food around as it will attract animals, no drugs or alcohol, and keep the camp areas clean and tidy.

Tommy stepped forward with a smile. “Your schedule of activities and chore rotations for the week, based on the groups your teachers have sorted you into, will be posted in the morning. Lunch will be served in one hour. And yes, we do have cellphone reception out here—” this revelation was met with a resounding cheer “—but I understand you are to hand these in to your cabin leader and may only use them at designated times. And now, your teachers will read out your assigned cabins.”

Mr Snape, the Chemistry teacher, stepped forward with a sheet of paper in his hand, the usual sour expression on his face. Miss Trelawney, the airy-fairy Social Studies teacher, joined him with a second sheet, blinking owlishly at the assembled students through her thick glasses. 

Snape began reading out names in his slow, bored drawl. “In Overlook... Abbott… Bulstrode… Patil and Patil… Lovegood… Brown. In Winchester... Parkinson… Edgecombe… Greengrass… Granger… Chang… Vane.” He completed reading out the names of the other girls, spread throughout two more cabins, looking the whole time like the very names on the paper were causing him grave offense. Then Trelawney stepped forward and read out the boys’ names in her wavering, whispery voice. She was so quiet, she could barely be heard, and Hermione wondered - not for the first time - how a woman like her coped with teaching high school students. She was staring at the paper as if it was dangerous and might rise up and attack her at any moment.

Once their cabins had been assigned, McGonagall stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you I expect you all to be on your best behaviour while you are here. Rule-breaking will not be tolerated, and serious infractions will result in you failing this part of the module and therefore the year. Take your belongings to your assigned cabins and settle in. We’ll see you at lunch. You are dismissed.”

Hermione lingered behind the other students, finally picking up her luggage once the crowds had thinned, and made her way slowly along the path Sue had indicated led to the girls’ cabins. When she reached hers, she stood nervously outside. She could hear the other girls already in there, laughing and talking. With a sigh, she hoisted her suitcase up the stairs and stepped into the gloom. The conversation stopped and they all turned to regard her silently. Hermione tried to smile. The other girls looked at her for a moment more, then turned their backs on her and continued their conversation as they laid out their sleeping bags on the bunks they had chosen, leaving her to slink over to the last unoccupied bunk and begin unpacking her own things.

When the lunch bell rang half an hour later, Hermione hurried back along the path to the clearing and entered the dining hall. She found herself near the front of the line, but after waiting a few moments, she was rudely jerked backward and shoved out into the middle of the floor. “Know your place, Granger. It’s at the back.” She turned fearfully to regard Gregory Goyle, a large, hulking boy who used his size to intimidate. His friend Vincent Crabbe, who was almost as large, was at his usual place beside Goyle and smirking cruelly. “Yeah, Granger. People like you only deserve the leftovers.”

Silently, Hermione shuffled to the back of the line, which by this time was all the way around the inside of the building. Many of her peers, who had witnessed the exchange, sniggered and smirked at her as she passed them. By the time she finally arrived at the serving area, she had lost her appetite. Grabbing a single sandwich and a banana, she looked nervously around the crowded room before taking a seat by herself on the edge of a stage that stood at the far end.

After lunch, they were free to wander the grounds, exploring until dinner. Hermione hurried to her cabin to retrieve one of the books she had packed, grateful to have an opportunity to be on her own with no expectation to be anywhere. With the tome in her hand, she followed a path past the cabins and into the woods—but not too far, of course. She found a tree with soft moss and dry leaves cushioning its base and settled her back against the trunk, positioned so that if someone else happened along the path they would not easily observe her. Hermione read contentedly, absorbed in her book until she was roused by the faint ringing of the dinner bell. Her stomach growled in response, and she stood, brushing the leaves and moss from her backside, before finding the path and making her way back to camp.

When she arrived back at her cabin, it was empty. Hermione assumed the others had already made their way to the dining hall, and hurriedly threw her book on her bed then rushed down to the clearing. Entering the hall, she found herself once again at the back of the line. This time, however, she was determined to eat a decent meal. 

After they had been dismissed, Hermione wandered back to her cabin. Moving over to her bunk, she frowned, noticing for the first time her suitcase was sitting in a different position to where she had left it. She hefted it, expecting it to be weighted down with her belongings, and gasped in surprise as it flew up, nearly hitting her in the face, the lid swinging open. Hermione groaned. Her suitcase was empty. She heard sniggers from behind her and turned to see her cabin mates looking in at her from the doorway.

“Did you—what—where are my things?” she asked anxiously. 

Pansy Parkinson stepped into the room. “ _I_ don’t know, Granger. It’s _your_ responsibility to account for your belongings, not ours.” She gestured to the girls filling in behind her, smirking. “But wherever you left them, you’d better find them quickly; it’ll be dark soon.”

With a defeated sigh, Hermione turned away, resigned to a long evening spent trying to find as many of her clothes and toiletries as possible. Walking out the door, she began wandering the camp, looking up into trees, behind bushes, under benches, and behind buildings. She even checked the rubbish bins. Slowly but surely, she discovered various articles scattered around. Her toiletry bag was thrown carelessly into a bin, but at least the bin was empty and the toiletry bag still contained everything she had put in it—for that, at least, she was grateful. The only items she hadn’t yet found were her bras and knickers, and she dreaded to think where they might have ended up. She had a suspicion, but fervently hoped she would be wrong.

With her arms full of clothes, she made her way back to the cabin and re-packed everything she had found so far, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans for the small padlock and key she had brought with her, just in case. She only had herself to blame, really, she thought morosely. She should have known this would happen and preempted it by locking her luggage immediately. But she hadn’t wanted to make it so abundantly clear that she didn’t trust her peers. She had wanted to believe they would leave her things alone. 

“Found everything, Granger?” Romilda Vane asked her, with false concern in her voice. 

“Almost,” Hermione replied with a tight smile. “What a funny joke to play. I’ve had so much fun playing treasure hunt.” She couldn’t hide the edge of bitterness in her voice. “Only a few more things to find now, and I think I know where they are.”

Dread in her stomach, Hermione made her way to the boys’ cabins. They were all wandering about in front of the small buildings, sniggering and passing small things back and forth. Blaise Zabini looked up and saw her coming. 

“Lose something, Granger?” he smirked, dangling something between his long, elegant fingers. Hermione felt her face flame red. It was just as she suspected; her underwear, clearly named as per instructions, had been scattered around near the boys’ cabins for them to find. Several of the others—Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and of course, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle—were also holding items in their hands.

“Just a little joke the girls played on me,” she said hollowly. “May I have them back, please?”

“I don’t know, Granger,” Blaise answered thoughtfully. “What are you going to give _us_ in exchange?”

“I don’t have anything to offer, except my gratitude,” she answered. The boys guffawed. 

“Of course you don’t, because you’re a scholarship kid.” Weasley sneered. “I’m surprised your parents can _afford_ underwear. I thought they would all be ratty and full of holes, but these aren’t half bad.” He held a pair of her knickers to his cheek, causing her to flush with shame and anger.

“ _Please_ give me back my underwear,” she asked softly. 

The boys looked at each other, considering. After an excruciatingly long moment, Blaise shrugged and threw the pair of knickers he was holding into the dirt at her feet. “Give them back, lads,” he said. “We’ve got better things to do.” 

One by one, the boys holding items of her underwear stepped forward to do as Blaise had done, throwing them in the dirt. She stood silently, head down, not daring to meet their eyes. When they had all walked away, she stooped to pick them up and take inventory. Both her bras were here, but she was missing two sets of knickers. She supposed they had become souvenirs - or perhaps they had just been tossed into a more concealed place and still lay undiscovered. Trying to hold back her tears, Hermione turned back the way she had come and returned to her cabin.

  
Securing her now dusty underwear inside her suitcase and retrieving her toiletry bag, she headed to the toilet block and performed her ablutions as quickly as possible, then returned to the cabin, changed into her pyjamas and climbed into her sleeping bag without saying a word to any of the others. She could feel their eyes on her back, boring into her. Doing her best to block out the low hum of their conversation and determined not to break down, Hermione eventually fell asleep.


	3. Tuesday: Two Days Remaining

Hermione awoke early, anxiety churning in her gut. Pale grey pre-dawn light filtered into the cabin. Everyone else was sleeping soundly. She lay in her sleeping bag, worrying about the day to come. Today, they would be participating in activities with very limited adult supervision — each group would have only one teacher or parent helper—and that meant plenty of opportunities for her peers to torment her further.

Deciding she should make the most of the limited peace, Hermione got up and dressed as quietly as she could, then opened the front door and stepped out onto the landing to put on her shoes, carrying her toiletry bag. With the sun not yet up the air was cold, and she shivered slightly. Once her laces were tied, she walked lightly down the steps and hurried along the path to the ablution block, her bladder bursting. She didn’t normally have such urgent needs in the morning, and she supposed it was a side-effect of the anxiety that had caused her to jolt awake so early. Once she had relieved herself, Hermione quickly washed and brushed her teeth.

When she emerged, it was fully light but the camp was still silent. She decided to take a walk down to the jetty and look out over the water. Alone, standing on the platform with no one around to jeer or shove her or say cruel things, she was once again able to appreciate the beauty before her. She wished she could have come here under different circumstances, with different people who she could get along with. 

At the sound of a footstep behind her, Hermione whirled around, her heart in her throat. _No escape! You’re trapped!_ her mind gibbered. When she saw it was Ms McGonagall, some of the tension left her body, although her heart was still hammering so hard she thought it might explode.

“I’m sorry to have startled you, Miss Granger,” her teacher apologised. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”

“I woke just before dawn and couldn’t get back to sleep,” she said, once she was able to catch her breath. “I didn’t want to disturb anyone else, so I got up to take a walk around the camp.”

Ms McGonagall nodded, seeming to accept her explanation. “Miss Granger—” she paused, considering her next words. “I know you haven’t had an easy time at Hogwarts. But don’t let them win. Rise above it. If you continue to achieve as you have been so far, I’m certain you’ll be accepted into Oxford’s scholarship programme. In fact, I would be prepared to write you a personal recommendation to attach to your application.”

“You would?” Hermione gasped. “That’s—I mean, thank you very much, Ms McGonagall. You have no idea how much that would mean to me.”

“Yes. Well...” McGonagall huffed, trying to conceal her smile. “Just make sure your grades don’t slip, otherwise I may be forced to reconsider.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no. I—I’ll continue to do my best,” Hermione stammered.

“Excellent. Now, I suggest you get ready for breakfast. The other students will be rising soon.”

Hermione nodded, thanking her teacher once more before heading back to her cabin to put away the toiletry bag she still held in her hand. The other girls were just beginning to wake up, and looked at her curiously as she stepped through the door.

“Good morning,” she greeted them cautiously.

An inner door opened and their cabin leader, Mrs Weasley—Ron’s mother—emerged. “Where have you been, girl?” she snapped.

“Just out for a walk,” Hermione explained for the second time. “I woke up early and didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be wandering off without telling an adult,” the plump woman replied. “Don’t do it again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said quietly, her head down. She sat on her bunk, reading her book, to wait for everyone else. Once the others were ready, she joined them in heading to the dining hall for breakfast, lining up quietly with the rest of her cabin. Thankfully, she wasn’t pushed to the back of the line this time. 

When breakfast was finished, Mrs Hooch, the P.E teacher, stood up to call out the groups they had been sorted into for the week’s activities—four teams, each made up of one of the girls’ and one of the boys’ cabins—then attached a large sheet bearing the schedule to a corkboard beside the serving window. The students surged forward, jostling each other and laughing, to see which group would be doing what that day. Hermione hung back, listening to the conversations to determine what trials awaited her.

“Orienteering?” Daphne Greengrass complained. “Isn’t that some sort of rot involving a compass?”

“Yeah,” said Seamus Finnegan, one of the boys who would be in Hermione’s group. “Some bollocks activity that involves turning in circles, then trying to go in a straight line.”

Hermione opened her mouth to explain exactly how Orienteering worked, and then shut it again with a snap. If she spoke up and drew their attention, no doubt they would give her grief about it. Instead, she followed the flow of students outside and assembled with them around the fire pit, waiting to be collected by their instructors. 

Another parent she didn’t know called out, “Winchester and Borden cabins! This way for Orienteering!” Her cabin mates and the boys in Borden peeled away from the crowd and trailed after him as he led them along one of the paths and into the woods, a box under his arm.

Finally, they stopped in a small clearing and the parent turned to face them. “Good morning. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Mr Thomas, Dean’s father.” He launched into a detailed explanation of how Orienteering worked and what they needed to do. “Now, does everyone understand? Good. Get into four groups of three. I’ll assign each a set of coloured markers. The first group to correctly complete all their coordinates will earn a chocolate bar each.”

Hermione hung back, watching the others as they shuffled about, arguing over who would be with whom. Pansy turned to eye Hermione speculatively. 

“Hey, Granger,” she said, striding up to her, “Are you any good at this stuff?”

Hermione was flustered by the girl’s intense gaze. She _was_ actually rather good, but she wasn’t sure whether she should admit to it. Usually, when she admitted to being good at something, she was accused of bragging.

“Well?” Pansy demanded.

“Um. I’m okay, I guess. I’ve done it before,” she answered.

“Right, then. You’re with me and Daph.” Pansy grabbed Hermione by the upper arm and pulled her over to where Mr Thomas was waiting with their equipment. 

He solemnly handed them a compass, pencil, a map, and a piece of paper with the coordinates on it. “Good luck. You have two and a half hours to complete the activity. You will use the orange markers.” 

Hermione glanced around, following the direction Mr Thomas was pointing in, and spotted the first marker. She made her way over, with Daphne and Pansy close behind. Once they reached it, she turned to Pansy, who was still holding the equipment, and asked her, “What are the first coordinates?”

Pansy glanced down at the paper then looked up impatiently. “ _I_ don’t know! You do this one and demonstrate for us. Daph and I will do one after.” She shoved the items at Hermione, who fumbled with them for a moment. 

Hanging the string of the compass around her neck, she consulted the sheet of paper, looking for the heading, ‘Orange’, and quickly identified the first coordinate, then checked the map. She demonstrated to her companions how to refer to the map and take a bearing, then turned the bezel until it matched the coordinates given. Rotating slowly in a circle until the points lined up, then pointed in the direction they were to go.

“This way.” 

In no time at all, they had reached the second marker. Hermione noted down the symbol etched on the side, then started to remove the compass from around her neck so she could pass it along, but Daphne stopped her. “Maybe you should do another one. You know, just so we can be sure we’ve got the right idea.”

Hermione didn’t argue. She got to work making the necessary adjustments and moved forward. When they reached the second marker, she once again attempted to offer the equipment to the other girls, but Pansy shook her head.

“You’re doing so well, Granger, I’d hate to stop you,” she said with a smirk. “You should just keep going.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed quietly. She had suspected this had been the girls’ plan all along. As much as she resented being left to do all the work in team projects, she was used to it by now. She put in the effort and time, and the people paired with her took the credit. 

The time progressed quickly as she moved from marker to marker, noting down the symbols as they went. The last one, she calculated, was up a small rise. Hermione began to climb. The bank was steep despite not being very high and she had to lean forward. Glancing behind her, she saw Pansy and Daphne were still at the bottom. Shaking her head slightly, she continued until she reached the top. The ground here was covered in leaf litter and moss, and she suspected the marker was partially buried. She began to dig in the area it should have been, slowly moving outward in an increasing circle. 

After a minute, she found it. Humming triumphantly, she noted the symbol. Absorbed in her task, Hermione had blocked out her surroundings, but now, as she stood up, she felt a rude push from behind. With a small scream, she tumbled over the edge of the rise and rolled painfully down the bank, scrabbling desperately at the ground as she went. After what felt like an age, but in reality was likely only a few seconds, her body slid out sideways and she came to a stop. 

“Granger, you’re so clumsy.” Pansy laughed as Hermione sat up. 

“You dropped the gear,” Daphne added. “You’d better go and get it.”

Biting back tears and determined not to look at the girls, she slowly got up. _At least there were no hard objects for me to crash into,_ she reflected bitterly. She also reflected she was lucky the compass hadn’t tangled round her neck as she rolled. Making her way slowly up the incline, Hermione retrieved the paper and map, but couldn’t find the pencil amongst the leaf litter, and to be honest, she didn’t care at this point.

Hearing a snigger, she looked up to see Harry, Ron and Seamus from the Borden cabin waving at her. “Didja have a nice _trip_ , Granger?” Seamus called out rudely. They all guffawed, and Pansy and Daphne joined in from below. Turning away, Hermione walked back down to where the girls were and silently led them back the way they had come.

Of course, they were the first team back, but Pansy and Daphne didn’t bother to thank her as they enjoyed their chocolate.  
  


* * *

  
Later that evening, Hermione entered the cabin after showering to find the girls on their phones, catching up on… whatever it was they were into. She had never really been interested in mobile phones, with their apps and games and things. Besides, who would she call or text? 

“Look! There were murders here back in the seventies!” Romilda exclaimed. 

“Bullshit!” Cho Chang scoffed.

“No, really!” Romilda insisted. “It was called Camp Redwood, and the killer was the _caretaker!_ He stabbed everyone to death, except for a camp helper called Margaret!”

“Send us the link,” Pansy insisted. 

Romilda tapped and clicked, and soon everyone was reading the article in horrified fascination. 

“He cut off their _ears_ and kept them as souvenirs! _Gross!_ ” Daphne exclaimed in disgust.

“I need a drink after reading that,” Pansy declared. She put her phone down and began rummaging in her luggage, pulling things out. Finally, she lifted up a corner of the base and retrieved a small bottle of liquor.

“Pansy, you booze hag,” Marietta Edgecombe teased.

Pansy shrugged, twisted the cap and took a swig, then passed it to Daphne, who was closest. Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as the bottle made its way slowly around the room, pretending to be absorbed in her book, and wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sharp smell of the alcohol.

“Want a drink, Granger?” Cho asked, holding out the bottle.

Hermione shook her head. “No thank you.”

“Why not?” Daphne asked. “D’you think you’re better than us?”

“No—no,” Hermione said hurriedly. “I just—I don’t like that brand.”

The girls laughed disbelievingly. “It’s rude to decline when someone offers you something,” Cho said. “Go on, have a sip. You’d think you would be happy to be included.”

“Thank you, but I’d really rather not,” Hermione replied, turning back to her book.

“I think we should convince her,” Pansy piped up, and Hermione looked up in alarm to see the girl advancing on her with a grin. The others joined her, and Hermione cowered against the wall.

“Grab her,” Pansy ordered. Hands shot out from everywhere and roughly seized her by the arms, dragging her from her bunk and pulling her to the ground. Pansy held the bottle while the others held Hermione down, two on her shoulders and two on her legs.

Pansy held the bottle to Hermione’s lips and tilted it, but she turned her head away, causing the alcohol to trickle along her cheek and down her neck. Undeterred, Pansy grabbed a handful of Hermione’s hair, holding her head still.

Marietta, who was holding one of Hermione’s arms, pinched her nose shut, forcing her to open her mouth, and Pansy gleefully tipped the alcohol in. Coughing and spluttering, trying not to swallow, Hermione redoubled her efforts to escape. Now they let her go, shrieking with laughter. 

“Cheers, Granger,” Pansy said.

Hermione struggled to her feet, her throat, nose and eyes burning, and stumbled out the door. Half blinded by tears, she ran for the ablution block, desperate to rinse her mouth and wash the sticky alcohol from her skin. It was only when she arrived that she realised she hadn’t brought a towel. Sobbing quietly, she took off her sweatshirt, intending to use that as a makeshift towel, and began splashing water on her face and neck.

As she cleaned herself off, she thought about how much she hated those girls. How she wished they could get their comeuppance. Her face buried in her now damp sweatshirt, she didn’t notice the sparks that arced through her curls.


	4. Wednesday: One Day Remaining

The next day dawned much the same as the first. Hermione once again woke before first light, but remembering the dressing-down Mrs Weasley had given her yesterday for leaving the cabin, she didn’t dare stay out for longer than it took for her to relieve herself and return.

Breakfast passed without incident, for which she was grateful. After the meal, it was Winchester and Borden cabin’s turn to do the dishes, and they all filed into the kitchen. “Right, you lot, get cracking,” said the cook. “Dishwashing liquid’s under the sink, brushes and scourers too. Mind you don’t scrape all the coating off my pans. I’ll be back soon to check on you.” She bustled out the door without another word.

“Granger, you’re washing,” Blaise said as soon as the cook was out of earshot. “In fact, you should dry them all and put them away, too.”

The others agreed. “That’s all people like you are good for, washing dishes,” Ron added with a sneer.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Blaise advanced on her threateningly. “Got something to say, Granger?” he asked, his tone dangerously soft.

“No,” she said quietly, looking down at her feet. Turning towards the sink, she began filling it with hot water, adding a dash of dishwashing liquid. She could hear the others whispering and giggling behind her. Hermione’s fingers tightened around the dishwashing brush. How she _wished_ she could fight back. Part of her wished she had her wand, so she could hex them all senseless, but she knew this was impossible. Using magic against Muggles would be a fast way to end up in prison—or worse, an asylum—and it would put her parents at risk, too.

Picking up the first dish, she began to scrub. Ten minutes later, the pile of clean dishes sitting in the dish drainer was so high, she was forced to stop and begin drying them. 

“Hurry _up_ , Granger. We don’t have all day. We have to go to archery soon,” Pansy taunted.

Soon after, the cook bustled back into the kitchen. “You kids must be nearly finished by n—” She stopped, seeing the pile of dirty dishes still waiting for attention and Hermione standing alone at the sink, halfway through drying the washed items. Looking around at the group suspiciously, she asked, “Why is she the only one doing any work?”

“Granger said she’d wash and dry them all for us, Missus,” Seamus piped up.

The cook eyed him mistrustfully, then turned her appraising eye on Hermione. “Is that true, young lady?” she demanded.

“Um,” Hermione stammered. She glanced nervously from her peers, who were watching her closely, to the cook, who stood waiting impatiently for her to answer.

“I think you’re lying, boy,” the older woman said, turning her gaze back to Seamus and the others. Holding her hand out towards Hermione, she continued, “I think you’ve done more than your fair share of the work, young lady. Hand me that teatowel, and you are free to go.”

Hermione silently passed the cloth in her hand over to the cook and left the kitchen, not daring to look over at the others, her heart in her throat. As much as she was grateful that the cook had intervened, they were sure to pay her back for it later.

She debated going back to her cabin, but didn’t want to find herself cornered in there if any of the girls returned for anything before the morning activity. Instead, she sat on one of the logs surrounding the fire pit. Slowly, the rest of the camp trickled in, and Hermione watched as the adults gathered in front of the assembled students to direct the various groups to their activities.

Archery was being taken by Filius Flitwick, the English teacher. He was a diminutive man, but nevertheless commanding. Tommy, as one of the owners, would be supervising and assisting due to the risk associated with the sport. “Right, everyone! This way!” Flitwick called cherrily, leading them along another trail.

“You got us in trouble, Granger, you bitch,” hissed Harry from behind her. Hermione said nothing, instead hurrying forward and slipping past the couple of people in front of her, so she could walk behind her teacher.

They arrived at the area where the activity was to take place. There was a small raised platform where they would stand, and the targets were lined up in staggered distances facing it. Quivers of arrows and several bows were leaning up against the railings, ready to use. 

“Right, who’s done archery before?” Flitwick asked. Several students raised their hands. “Excellent. Now, everyone, pay attention please. The arrows are blunted, but this is still a dangerous activity. Now, the different parts of the bow are…”

Hermione paid close attention as her teacher described how to string the bow, and to then notch and release an arrow. She rather suspected she would be no better at this than other sports, but she resolved to give it her best shot — no pun intended — regardless. 

While she was waiting, she felt a sharp jab in her side and jumped, turning around and frowning. Neville Longbottom, another boy from the Bowden cabin, held an arrow in his hand. He had a mean smile on his face. Leaning forward, he quite deliberately poked her with the tip. It hurt, and she winced. 

“Stop it,” she whispered.

“Nah,” Neville replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think I will.” He jabbed her again, harder. Hermione quickly stood, and moved closer to where Tommy was supervising the students currently aiming.

Tommy turned to look at her and grinned. "Want to be next, do you?" he asked.

Hermione blushed, embarrassed that he had drawn more attention to her.

"You done this before?" he continued. Hermione shook her head. "Well, now's your chance. Come on up."

The students who had been firing were placing their bows down and retrieving the arrows that had landed in and around the targets, and Tommy motioned for her to step up to the platform. He showed her how to hold the bow and position her body before drawing, making her practice several times while the other students were moving clear of the firing range. 

Once Flitwick had given the all clear for the next line to begin, Tommy had Hermione notch and draw. "Now, remember your position. Nice and straight, across the body, elbow at ninety degrees. Rear foot at right angles to the front one. Hold your breath while aiming, and release."

Hermione did as instructed. The arrow went low, landing in the dirt about five metres from the target she had been aiming at. She tried to block out the sniggers behind her.

"Try again," Tommy encouraged. 

This time, Hermione's arrow was closer, but off to the left. The third struck the leg of the target, but the fourth arrow embedded itself in the very bottom of the white outer ring. 

"Well done!" Tommy cheered. "See if you can improve on your next turn."

Hermione went and sat down. She felt someone move up behind her and tensed. "Your aim is shit, Granger." It was Neville again. Somehow, he still had the arrow in his hand, and started poking her with it once more. She moved to stand up, but he grabbed her by the back of the shirt. "Nuh uh, you're not going anywhere."

He kept jabbing at her lightly with the arrow tip. It was no longer hard enough to hurt, but her stress heightened the sensation regardless, making her want to scream. She could feel her fingertips tingling as her distress increased. If he didn't stop _right now_ , she was going to lose her mind—

"Longbottom!"

Both Hermione and Neville jumped at the sound of Flitwick's voice. "Longbottom, you haven't had a turn yet. Get on up here. Everyone must participate!"

Neville got up, dropping the arrow, and went over to the platform. Hermione took long, deep breaths, trying to clear her head. There was an unpleasant buzzing sensation and feeling of lightheadedness that she assumed was a size effect of the anxiety pervading her senses, making it hard to concentrate. With an effort, she managed to calm herself down just enough so she could focus on what was going on.

Once all the students had taken a turn and were preparing to go again, Hermione was called back up to the platform. "You! Miss—" Tommy gestured in her direction, then looked over at Flitwick.

"Granger," her teacher supplied.

"Miss Granger, come and have another go! Let's see how you do."

Hermione got up and made her way over to the platform. Neville passed her and gave a predatory smile as he did so. It made her shudder.

Tommy passed her a bow and arrow. Hermione notched, still thinking about Neville and his ceaseless jabbing. She imagined his head was the bullseye. A jolt ran through her as the image flooded her mind, and everything seemed to slow down as she drew and aimed. Her fingers tingled again. She held her breath, focusing on the target, and released. The arrow sailed through the air, rising gently before curving down again and slamming into the target, just outside of the bullseye. 

A collective gasp went up around her. Hermione could hardly believe it herself. Had she _actually_ managed to hit the target? And with such accuracy?

"Well _done_ , miss Granger!" Tommy cried, applauding. "Filius, did you see that?"

"I did," Flitwick replied. "Good work, miss Granger. See if you can do it again."

"Fluke," she heard someone whisper behind her. "There's no way a freak like her can do that again."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she imagined the speaker's head in place of Neville's. The tingling and sensation of time slowing came again, but not as strongly. She aimed, held, loosed. Once again the arrow found its mark, a little below and to the right of the first. Still not quite dead centre, but very good, all the same.

"If you can get a close grouping, miss Granger, you can be first in line for pudding tonight," Tommy declared. He handed her the third arrow. Ron and Daphne, who were standing alongside her, had stopped firing to watch, open mouthed.

Determined now, Hermione concentrated on her target. She released the third, then the fourth. Neither hit the bullseye, but both were within the centre circle. “You’re a natural!” Flitwick exclaimed. “We’ll have to see about getting you into an archery club next year, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, Mr Flitwick,” Hermione said shyly. She didn’t think her parents would be able to afford to pay for the cost of dues and equipment for something like that, but she didn’t want to voice this in front of everyone. _Although,_ she reflected _, everyone here will already have figured that out. It’s hardly a secret._ After collecting her arrows, Hermione resumed her seat. Amazingly, the others left her alone, for which she was grateful.  
  


* * *

  
After lunch, they were scheduled to complete water activities. They would be kayaking and swimming for the afternoon. Hermione sat on the edge of the jetty, her feet dangling over the water. She had spent the last hour kayaking and her arms and upper body were feeling the effects of her exertion. Behind her, Harry, Ron, Seamus and Draco were talking about some stupid ghost story.

“He was a freak,” Draco was saying. “Like Granger, over there. None of the camp helpers were watching the kids, they were all too busy fucking in the bushes. So he drowned. And now he haunts camps like this, killing any teenagers or adults he finds.”

The others laughed. “I’d rather be fucking than watching a bunch of snotnose little kids, too,” Ron said.

“Nah, you’d rather be eating,” Seamus argued, to more laughter.

“Hey, you guys,” Draco whispered. Hermione frowned. This didn’t sound good. She could hear them murmuring behind her, but couldn’t make out the words. 

_Time to move, I think,_ she decided, starting to stand up. Just as she got to her tipping point, someone slammed into her from behind. With a shriek, she landed in the water. Normally a fair swimmer, Hermione got herself upright and resurfaced. She treaded water, coughing, spluttering and wiping water out of her eyes. They were laughing at her, of course. They were _always_ laughing.

With a barely contained growl, she slowly swam towards the ladder on the side of the jetty, about an arm’s length away. Her hand was outstretched and about to grab the side when suddenly, something seized her ankle from below. Before she could scream, it pulled her beneath the water. Hermione struggled to get free, but she was being held in a vice-like grip. She tried to kick out with her other foot, but missed. Abruptly, the hold was released enabling her to get her head above the surface.

“Help me!” she gurgled, her mouth full of water. She could barely breathe, and everything seemed very bright. _Where_ was the parent helper who was supposed to be supervising?

“Jason’s got you, Granger!” Someone yelled. She didn’t have time to properly catch her breath before she was yanked downwards again. Hermione could see her peers above her through the clear water, leaning over the jetty, pointing and laughing. Her lungs were burning, and she was beginning to panic. Glancing down, she saw Ron below, holding onto her. His cheeks were puffed out as he held his breath. Distantly, she was amazed that he could hold his breath so long.

Rage flowed through Hermione’s being, white-hot, as she glared down at his stupid, cruel expression. If she could only get loose before she drowned, she would wrap her hands around his neck and strangle the red-headed bastard until his tongue protruded from his mouth, until his eyes bugged out of his head and his lips turned blue. Let him feel the terror of being unable to take a breath! She would—

Suddenly, he let her go with a strangled scream. It burbled strangely, under the water as he was. Bubbles erupted from his mouth and raced for the surface. Hermione pushed herself upwards and emerged above the water again, gasping for air. Behind her, she heard a splash as Ron surfaced, screaming in pain and choking on the water he had swallowed.

“My hand, _my hand_!” he wailed. Wiping her eyes and turning around, she saw his face contorted in pain. He held one hand up in the air, clutching his wrist with the other. Hermione observed it appeared to be badly burnt. The palm was covered in blisters that were oozing clear fluid, and it had swollen to nearly twice its usual size, an angry red.

Finally, the parent helper—Hermione couldn’t remember her name—came rushing over, alerted by Ron’s howls. “Get him out of the water!” she ordered, not seeming to notice Hermione at all. Daphne and Harry jumped in, swimming past Hermione to get to their friend. Taking him by the shoulders, they helped him to the ladder. Other hands reached down from the jetty to pull him onto the boards, where the parent examined his hand.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking, “How did you get such a bad burn?”

“It—it was Granger,” he whimpered. “ _She_ did it!” 

Everyone turned accusing eyes on Hermione, still in the water. “What did you do to him?” the parent demanded angrily. 

“Oh, don’t be bloody stupid,” she snapped. The parent recoiled in surprise at her tone. Hermione swam the short length to the ladder and climbed up. The students who had gathered around stepped back, uncertainty on their faces.

“I—I _beg_ your pardon?” the woman spluttered.

“I _said,_ don’t be bloody stupid,” Hermione repeated, giving her a hard look. “How could I possibly cause a burn like that? _Especially_ when we were both in the water? Honestly, is logic an entirely foreign concept to you?”

The parent—and all the students—gaped at her in utter shock. 

“You’d better get him seen to, instead of staring at me like an idiot,” Hermione continued, nodding in Ron’s direction. “That looks serious. He’ll need to see a doctor.” 

She stalked past everyone, her head held high, and retrieved her flip-flops from where she had stored them under a bush at the end of the jetty, out of sight. Slipping them on, she headed back to her cabin, intent on drying off and spending the rest of the afternoon reading her book. 

To hell with all of them.


	5. Thursday: Zero Days Remaining - Ignition

Hermione awoke with a feeling of resignation and inevitability. After the dramatic events of the previous afternoon, any hope of just staying as insignificant as possible had been irrevocably dashed.

She had been called before Ms McGonagall to explain her outburst against the parent—her name, as it turned out, was Mrs Boot—and subsequently been forced to reveal the circumstances that had led to Ron’s accusation and Mrs Boot’s reaction. Although her teacher understood why Hemione had reacted the way she did, agreeing that the idea she could somehow inflict serious burns on another person without heat and while in the water was preposterous, and that any logical, reasonable adult should have known better than to even consider the idea, she was nevertheless ordered to apologise to Mrs Boot for the way she had spoken to her.

“Rudeness is not justified even in the face of ignorance, Miss Granger. You must counter irrational fear and lack of reasoning with calm, and by using sound counter-examples,” McGonagall chastised Hermione.

“I understand, Ms McGonagall, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to respond calmly! He had been holding me under the water, and I feared I would drown. Surely you can sympathise with that?”

“I can, miss Granger, and Ronald and the other students involved will face consequences for their actions, but you must make amends regardless. There will be many times where apologising for something you have said or done will be a bitter pill to swallow, but that is a part of life.”

With that final piece of advice, she was dismissed and had dutifully apologised to Mrs Boot. The awful woman had looked down her nose at her and simply sniffed in response, not even having the grace to properly accept or acknowledge Hermione’s words.

Ronald Wesaley had been taken to hospital, his frantic mother in attendance. There was no one with proper medical training at the camp; even Sue and Tommy only had advanced first aid certificates. It was suspected that the injury would not be easily treated, and the camp had been abuzz with rumours and gossip that night. Hermione had been subjected to interrogation from her cabin-mates but she had angrily rebuffed them all, once again pointing out how impossible it was for her to have had any part in the incident. Her vitriol, never before seen, was so unprecedented that they quickly left her alone.

Hermione had lain awake most of the night, anxiety preventing her from being able to sleep. Deep down, she knew what had happened to Ron. She had had a burst of accidental magic. Such a thing hadn’t happened to her since childhood; her parents had begun teaching her how to control it as soon as she was able to understand the concept. Hermione suspected her sudden skill at the archery range had also been due to her magic, triggered by Neville poking her with the arrow but tempered and directed by the act of pouring her concentration into a singular task. Now she feared her peers’ loathing of her and their determination to make her very existence a misery would only intensify. Even though no one in their right mind could really think it was Hermione’s fault that Ron had been injured, it was an excuse to target her even more. At some unknown time in the early morning, she finally fell into a restless sleep.

Now, with dawn creeping in, she was awake again and feeling like she had not slept at all. For the first time, she wished she had a mobile phone so she could call her parents and beg them to come and collect her. She would have tried them at work, but she knew they would be out of town until late this evening, having planned to travel to attend an expo for small business owners. Everyone would be going home tomorrow after lunch, and Hermione grudgingly accepted she would just have to hold on and hope for the best.

An hour or so later, the other girls began waking up, and they all prepared for the day ahead. No one spoke to or looked at her as they ate breakfast, and Hermione didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned. Once everyone had finished eating, McGonagall walked to the front of the room and called for everyone’s attention.

“I know you have all been anxious for an update in regards to Mr Weasley’s condition. I have spoken with his mother and it appears he has sustained serious third-degree burns, which require several rounds of surgery.” A volley of gasps and murmurs greeted this information, and Lavender Brown, Ron’s girlfriend, burst into noisy tears.

“The doctors say the type of burn is consistent with an injury sustained by exposure to superheated steam. The only explanation they have been able to offer is the potential existence of hot geysers under the water. It seems highly unlikely to be the cause, but regardless, the lake is now off-limits for the rest of the trip.” The murmurs increased, with the students who had not yet had a chance to swim or kayak groaning in disappointment.

“You are dismissed,” McGonagall continued. “However, I require all the students who were present when the incident occurred to remain behind. We have things we need to discuss.”

The sound of shuffling filled the room as everyone except for Hermione’s group left the dining hall, and everyone else who had been there the previous day gathered at one table, leaving Hermione sitting on her own and feeling very exposed.

When everyone was settled, McGonagall turned her eye on the huddle of students. “I want to know who pushed Hermione into the water yesterday, whose idea it was, and who else was involved,” she said without preamble. She was met with surly silence in return.

“If no one owns up, you will all be in detention until the end of the term, and your parents will be notified,” the teacher threatened. Still, nobody said anything. “You will also be refused entry to the end-of-year formal.”

The final threat was met with howls of protest. “But— that’s not  _ fair _ !” Cho cried.

“You can’t do that!” Pansy added. 

“I can and I will,” McGonagall replied fiercely. “I am fully aware of the constant bullying you have all subjected Miss Granger to, and it is wholly unacceptable!”

“I won’t allow you to stop us from attending!” Draco shouted, standing. “My father will hear about this!” he stormed from the hall, slamming the door behind him on the way out.

McGonagall’s eyes flicked over to the door before once again coming to rest on the students. “Anyone else?” she asked, raising her brow. No one moved. “No? Anyone want to tell me who the ringleaders were?”

“Why are you punishing  _ us _ ?” Daphne whined. “It’s Granger’s fault Ron was injured!”

“Nonsense!” McGonagall retorted. “No one knows exactly how Mr Weasley came by those injuries, but it is not possible for Miss Granger to have inflicted them.”

Everyone glanced over at Hermione, and she cringed back from their stares, fear squeezing her insides. As easy as it was to dismiss the wild claims as ridiculous and infeasible, a part of her was terrified they would discover the truth, that she was a witch and she had indeed inflicted the burns, albeit unintentionally. No one would care if it was accidental magic and beyond her control, brought about by extreme distress and panic. They would tear her apart, and if she survived that onslaught, she would be dragged into a harsh and unforgiving spotlight.

Her teacher waited a few moments more, but nobody spoke. “Very well,” she said. “If no one will own up, you will all face consequences. I will be contacting all of your parents this evening to inform them that each of you will be required to undertake detention for the rest of the term, and that none of you will be permitted entry to the school formal. You are dismissed.”

The students stood and hurried from the hall, glaring over their shoulders at Hermione and McGonagall as they went. “You’ll pay for this, Granger!” Pansy shouted as she left.

Hermione sat where she was, shaking. She felt like she might vomit. She dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

“Miss Granger, you will stay with me for the remainder of the trip,” she said. “Come along now. We will collect your things from your cabin now and take them to my room.” 

Nodding gratefully, Hermione stood and followed her teacher from the hall.   
  


* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, as Hermione spent it as McGonagall’s shadow. She assisted her head of year with administration tasks and accompanied her as she made her round of the camp, checking in on the various activities that were taking place.

Late in the evening, Hermione decided she would have a shower. At this time, everyone had returned to their respective cabins and it was almost time for lights out. After seeking permission from McGonagall, and declining her kind offer to accompany her, Hermione headed to the ablution block. Thinking nobody would be about, she didn’t notice the subtle movement in the shadowy treeline as she approached and entered.

Hermione ducked her head under the spray and sighed heavily. Regardless of what anyone might say to the contrary, her future at Hogwarts Academy was doomed. The incident with Ron had been bad enough, but now that McGonagall had made the decision to bar everyone who had been in her activity group from the formal unless someone fessed up or named the ringleaders, Hermione knew she would be in danger if she continued to attend classes.

She had begged McGonagall to retract the threat of entry refusal, but her teacher stood firm on the matter. “I can’t back down now that I have made the decision, Miss Granger,” the older woman stated. “To do so would only undermine any future decisions I make, and as head of the sixth year students, I cannot allow that to happen. Students and parents alike must understand that there will be consequences for their actions, and that they will not be able to escape those consequences.”

“But—if the punishment goes ahead, I won’t be able to show my face at school again. Things will only get worse! The threat of consequences won’t deter them, I know it won’t!” The irony of worrying about how this whole situation would affect her ability to complete her schooling when she had previously proposed abandoning it wasn’t lost on her, but nevertheless she felt that weighing up the option of not completing her final year, versus having that option effectively taken away from her because of an incident she had no control over, were different things entirely.

_ I suppose I just have to accept the fact that I may not end up qualifying for the Oxford scholarship,  _ she mused. It made her feel quite defeated, and more than a little resentful. Just because she was different to the others, because she came from limited means and got into Hogwarts thanks to her brains rather than her parents’ money and social status, she had been ostracised and regarded as inferior and undeserving. 

Hermione reached up and shut off the shower, then quickly toweled herself dry and dressed in knickers, a singlet top, and shorts, before gathering up her things. She stopped in front of the mirror to towel-dry her hair and tie it into a ponytail, then stepped out the door, shutting off the lights as she went. As soon as she stepped into the darkness the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something was wrong. She turned to bolt for the cabin she was staying in with McGonagall but was grabbed roughly from behind before she could do so. Her scream was abruptly cut off as a hand clamped around her mouth.

“Told you you would pay, Granger,” came a voice to her left. Hermione’s eyes slid sideways to regard Pansy, gripping her upper arm. She glanced the other way to see Daphne holding her right.

The person with their hand over her mouth blew hot breath into her ear. “Daph’s really upset about not being able to go to the formal, Granger. And if Daph’s upset,  _ I’m _ upset.” Goyle. She’d never understood what anyone could see in that hulking menace.

“Let’s go,” Pansy ordered. 

Together, her captors dragged her down a path leading through the trees. She struggled and tried to shout, but it was to no avail. They held her too tightly, and she couldn’t get loose, no matter how valiantly she fought. After what felt like an eternity but was in reality probably only a few minutes, Hermione was dragged into a small clearing that was usually used for games. Her fear increased as she realised many of her peers were already there, forming a loose circle. 

“Let’s get started,” Daphne said with a laugh. They released Hermione, Goyle shoving her closer to the centre of the circle. Lights suddenly came on in all directions, pointing at her. Pinning her in place like a bug on a screen. Everyone was jeering and laughing. She wanted to scream for help, to demand to know what they thought they were doing, but her throat had closed up tight, her breath coming in panicked gasps.

“Damnit, the signal is crap,” Hermione heard Pansy grumble. Then, “Yes! We’re live! G, turn the bitch around to face me.”

Goyle, still standing behind her, grabbed her upper arms and forced her in a half-turn. He wrapped one arm around her upper shoulders, and the other around the waist, holding her in place. One hand slid down to squeeze her breast painfully, and Hermione renewed her efforts to break free. 

“Get your filthy hands off me!” She panted desperately. “Let me  _ go! _ ” 

“I don’t think so,” Pansy said mockingly. “Not until we’ve taught you a lesson. C, do it.”

She heard someone else approach, and to her horror, the new arrival was pawing at her hips, trying to grab the waistband of her shorts.

“No! _NO!_ _Somebody help me_!” she screamed, finally finding her voice again as true panic set in. Thoughts of what they were planning to do to her flashed through her mind, and a roaring began in her head. A red mist began to descend over her vision, giving everything a maroon tinge. Dimly, she felt her shorts begin to slide down her legs, and she desperately clenched her thighs and knees together to try and halt their descent. It was of no use. With a final yank, her shorts were removed, leaving her only in her knickers to cover her. Around the circle, she could hear them all. Laughing. Always laughing. They were forever laughing at her. They would never stop laughing. No matter what she did, no matter where she went. And Pansy had said _live_ , that meant she was streaming Hermione’s humiliation to the _internet,_ and now she would never escape the laughter. Everyone, everywhere, would see her shame and laugh at her. 

Hermione felt the buzzing spread through the rest of her body, flowing from her head, to her chest, and out through her limbs. She thought she could hear crackling, like electricity. Faintly, she registered that Goyle had let go of her with a muttered, “What the hell?” she landed heavily on the ground, sprawling on her hands and knees. The laughter seemed to intensify, it was pushing in on her,  _ crushing _ her, it was—

She threw back her head, a primal scream issuing from her lungs, and the sky was suddenly lit with a brilliant flash of blue light. Hermione slowly got to her feet, her whole body thrumming. Her gaze landed on Pansy, who was frowning down at her phone. “What the hell—? My phone just fried itself! And it was  _ new _ , I’ve only had it six months—”

The thrum intensified. It wanted to be released,  _ begged _ to be released. So Hermione released it. She reached out and grabbed Pansy by the wrist. Power in the form of a white light flowed through her hand and into Pansy’s body. The dark-haired girl suddenly stiffened and then began to shudder. The phone, still in her hand, exploded, sending out plastic shards in all directions. Around her, Hermione could hear the confused, frightened cries of the students occupying the clearing.

Releasing Pansy, Hermione turned to face her next tormentor. Goyle. He was backing away from her, his previous smirk replaced by one of growing concern. She shot out her hand, and flames issued from her fingertips, engulfing the boy in an inferno. He screamed and ran blindly away from her, plowing into a huddle of students before they could get out of his way, and setting them alight, too.

“Pansy?  _ Pansy! _ ” Hermione turned around to regard Daphne, on her knees beside the lifeless form of her friend, weeping. Turning to face Hermione, she screamed, “What did you do, you  _ bitch? _ ” 

“This,” Hermione said calmly, and grabbed Daphne by the neck. The white light poured into the girl, causing her eyes to first bulge out of her head and then explode on her cheeks. When Hermione dropped her and turned to face what was left of the circle, the remaining students at last broke and ran. She laughed to herself. They wouldn’t get away. She would find them, and make them pay. All of them. 

Making her way back along the track, Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth. In her heightened state, she had developed preternatural senses. She could feel them, no matter where they hid or how quiet they thought they were being. There was movement ahead of her, through the trees. 

_ “Confringo.”  _ She waved her hand and the few hiding among the shadows were blasted backwards with enough force to break their bones apart when they struck the very trees they thought would conceal them.

Now she reached the first cluster of cabins, the ones the girls had been staying in.  _ “Bombarda. _ ” The structures blew apart, one after another.

Hermione moved on, headed for the boys’ cabins. She could hear many of them hiding inside, hear the beating of their evil hearts, hear their whimpers and their terrified sobs. She smiled.  _ “Incendio.”  _ another sweep of her arm, and the buildings burst into flame. The screams from those trapped within were music to her ears.

Now the adults were running towards her, shouting questions, panic and confusion all over their faces. Hermione turned to see a row of stones that bordered the pathway she was on. She levitated them, and the assembled adults halted, staring in shock.  _ “Oppongo.”  _ The adults fell, torn to pieces by the projectiles.

Now there were only a few left. She would find them, wherever they were. Coming upon the jetty, she heard sounds coming from the long shed where the Kayaks were stored. Blasting the door open revealed Seamus, Crabbe, Harry and Baise. Hermione tilted her head at them, regarding the boys curiously as they begged her not to hurt them. She concentrated, funnelling her out-of-control magic into a deadly point.  _ “Explusio.”  _ The inner walls of the shed suddenly turned red. Bits of tissue, bone, brain and hair landed with wet slaps, sticking to whichever surface they landed on.

Hermione stalked the camp perimeter, venturing further in whenever she heard or saw any of the few remaining survivors. One by one, she took them down, until she was sure there were only one or two people left. It was becoming harder and harder to keep track of what was going on around her, and dimly, Hermione acknowledged that she had lost her grip on sanity. She had not long come across Sue and Tommy, and the little voice at the back of her mind that screamed at her that they had done nothing was drowned out by the raw power surging through her veins. They, too, had perished at her hand.

Now, back in the middle of the camp where the fire pit was located, she heard a sound behind her and spun, levitating one of the long seats and flinging it outwards. Moments later she let out a strangled gasp as she realised who it was, and the magic abruptly left her as she rushed over to the gasping form on the ground.

“Ms McGonagall! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Hermione sobbed, dropping to her knee beside the one person who had always showed her kindness. Her chest had been crushed by the log, and she was gasping for air, blood from her punctured lungs bubbling around her lips. “I couldn’t control it, they were live streaming me on the internet and trying to strip me down, I snapped, I—”

“What  _ are _ you?” McGonagall choked out. Moments later, the light left her eyes and she slumped backwards. Gone. Like all the others. Hermione folded herself over her teacher’s body and sobbed. Her mind raced. What had she done? She would have to flee, to hide, her face would be everywhere, she would never see her parents again, and they would be in so much trouble—!

She sat up on her knees, wiping at her eyes as she tried to think of what to do. Quite suddenly, there was a burst of white-hot pain in her back. She turned, stumbled, felt behind her. There was an arrow sticking out of her flesh. Rolling over onto her side, she saw Draco with a bow and several arrows. As she watched, he notched, drew and fired on her again. The second arrow pierced her stomach, and suddenly her whole torso was on fire. The blond boy bared his teeth and her and reached for a third arrow, but Hermione summoned the last of them to her before he could grasp it. Waving her hand once more, darkness beginning to tinge the edges of her vision, Hermione flung the arrows in a deadly hail. They struck his torso, throwing him backwards. Draco uttered a high-pitched scream and then lay quite still.

Hermione slumped onto her side, panting heavily. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced before. She knew she was dying. But perhaps this would be for the best. No doubt the Muggles who eventually discovered the carnage would create some explanation for it, one that wouldn’t cause her parents to be subjected to any difficult questions or attention. She lay there mourning her short life and the lack of joy it had brought her.

“Mum, dad. I’m sorry,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Hermione’s chest slowed, then stilled. Even in death, pain and sorrow was etched on her face.


	6. Aftermath

**From** **_The Old Guard, Friday April 26, 2019:_**

  
Stratton, a small semi-rural town in Wiltshire, is in shock this afternoon following a gruesome slaughter at nearby Camp Chamberlain, with almost the entire year twelve student body of Hogwarts Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in the country, found dead.

The bodies were discovered during a welfare check that was conducted when the party failed to return to the school when expected, and none of the adults supervising the students were able to be reached.

Police believe the attack occurred between the late hours of Thursday night and the early hours of Friday morning, but are still attempting to determine exactly what happened, who did it and what their motivation was. Inspector Shacklebolt, chief of police, would not give media many details, saying only that explosives appeared to have been used in many places, as well as the use of projectiles and sharp objects as weapons, and they were looking for at least half a dozen suspects.

Inspector Shacklebolt was quoted as saying, “No one person could have committed a crime of this magnitude. Rest assured, we will discover who was involved, and we will apprehend them. They will face the full force of justice.”

Ronald Weasley, who was in hospital with severe burns to his right hand at the time of the massacre, is now the sole survivor…

  
  
  


**From** **_The Heralder Online, Friday April 26, 2019:_ **

Footage has emerged tonight which sources claim was taken in Camp Chamberlain the same night that almost the entire year twelve student body was massacred. The clip was live streamed to Facebook, posted under the account name Pansy Parkinson, which is also the name of one of the victims. The footage cuts off abruptly when a large flash, thought to be caused by lightning, hits.

Before the feed is lost, it shows what appears to be an act of horrific bullying, with a girl referred to in the footage as ‘Granger’ restrained and some of her clothing forcibly removed under the glare of what appears to be torchlight from multiple sources. The participants in this act have not yet been identified.

Can you identify any of the people in the video? Click  here to watch...

  
  
  


**From** **_The Bailey Mail Online, Sunday April 28, 2019:_ **

The student who has been dubbed “The Boy Who Lived”, the sole survivor of what people are calling ‘the Camp Chamberlain massacre’, Ronald Weasley, has named the person he thinks is responsible for the deaths of all his classmates, three parent helpers, and several Hogwarts Academy teachers: Fellow classmate, Hermione Granger.

A video previously circulating online, appearing to show a girl referred to as ‘Granger’ being viciously bullied by her peers, has now been removed after members of the public came forward naming several of the alleged participants as Hogwarts Academy students. Bereaved parents have threatened legal action against any person, media outlet, webpage or other source which accuses any of their children of being involved in the bullying incident. 

Mr Weasley claims Miss Granger acted in revenge because she ‘wasn’t popular’. “She’s possessed, or in league with the devil, or something,” he insisted from his hospital bed. “She was the one who burnt my hand. But I don’t think she had planned to get me sent to hospital. She would have killed me too if she got the chance, I know it.”

Mr Weasley suffered serious third degree burns to his hand in a mysterious incident while swimming in the lake at the ill-fated camp. He has undergone one skin graft so far, with several more likely….

  
  


**From** ** _The_** **_National Inquirer, Friday May 3, 2019_**

Police have announced a possible lead in the Camp Chamberlain massacre case. A recluse who lived near the camp, Rustin Parr, has been arrested pending further investigation. According to Inspector Shacklebolt, Parr has been behaving erratically ever since the year twelve students of Hogwarts Academy were slaughtered at the camp, along with several of their teachers and parent helpers, wandering into town and accosting locals with stories about magic, witches and the devil.

This is not the first time Parr has been a suspect in the deaths of children. Twenty years ago, seven children went missing and were later found murdered in  Burkittsville. Parr was accused of committing the crime, but ultimately released due to lack of evidence needed to secure a conviction.

Back then, Parr claimed a witch was responsible for the children’s deaths and had forced him to do it. Locals near the camp say Parr is claiming to have seen the crime unfold, and that a girl used dark spells to hunt down and viciously murder everyone around her.

Psychologist Marie Webster, speaking of Parr’s claims, was quoted as saying that…

  
  


**From** **_Facebook, Original Source Unknown, Monday May 6 2019_ **

We need to talk about cyber-bullying, and we need to talk about adults who try and cover for cyber-bullies. We need to remember an innocent girl was being humiliated via live stream and the parents of the kids who were involved are threatening LEGAL ACTION against anyone who names them! People, this is fucked! TWO of the boys SEXUALLY ASSAULTED HER ON CAMERA, and their parents don’t seem to care! Sure, those boys died along with everyone else at the camp, and that’s really messed up, but the people who are saying we shouldn’t talk about what they did because of what happened need to CHECK THEMSELVES! The people who are saying we should respect the dead kids who were involved in the cyber-bullying incident - WHERE’S THE RESPECT FOR HERMIONE GRANGER, THE VICTIM?!?!

SHARE IF YOU AGREE!!   
  


  
**From** **_The Wiltshire Tribune, Monday May 13 2019_**

Ronald Weasley, the sole survivor of the Camp Chamberlain massacre, has reputedly been committed to an inpatient mental health facility after several attempts at self-harm and increasingly irrational behaviour. A source close to the family is quoted as saying, “Ron’s in a bad way. He won’t sleep, and when he does sleep he wakes screaming. He thinks Hermione Granger is still alive somehow, and is coming after him.”

Meanwhile, Rustin Parr, the recluse who lived near Camp Chamberlain and was suspected of having involvement in the deaths that occurred there last month, has been released today due to a lack of evidence. This echoes a similar event twenty years ago, when Parr was accused of...

**From** **_The Daily Star, Friday May 17 2019_ **

The parents of several of the students killed in the Camp Chamberlain massacre have lost their bid for legal action against media outlets and individuals who accused the dead students of being part of a ring of vicious bullies who tormented their classmate Hermione Granger, who also died at the camp. Judge Sanders, presiding over the hearing on Thursday, May 16, threw the case out, saying that, “The public interest in this case outweighs the accused’s right to privacy, even though in this case the accused are deceased.”

Following this decision, Hermione Granger’s parents, Richard and Monica, spoke publicly for the first time. “Our daughter was never afforded justice, and her tormentors should not be forgiven simply because they became victims themselves,” Mr Granger said, visibly upset. “I just wish the parents of those kids could forget about their perceived slights for just a moment, and have some empathy for us. We lost a child, too.”

The vicious and prolonged bullying which Hermione Granger was subjected to prior to the Camp Chamberlain massacre has divided the nation, with continuing debate over whether it is more important to not speak ill of the dead and to let the past lie, or more important to ensure the voices of victims of bullying and their families are not silenced in order to protect their tormentors’ reputations.

A petition has been circulating calling for harsher penalties for incidents of serious and sustained bullying. It has gathered almost 50,000 signatures in just 24 hours...

  
  
  


**From** **_The Southern Chronicle, Wednesday May 22 2019_ **

A blaze ripped through a house just outside of Stratford-Upon-Avon in the early hours of Tuesday morning, killing the two occupants. Emergency services have confirmed the deaths, with a spokesperson saying two bodies have been recovered. Their identities have not yet been released, as next of kin are yet to be found, but a neighbour has named the deceased as Monica and Richard Granger.

Mr and Mrs Granger were the parents of Hermione Granger, formerly a student at Hogwarts Academy, who was the victim of an ongoing bullying campaign that has gripped the nation. “It’s so tragic,” the neighbour, who did not want to be named, said. “First they lose their daughter, and now they’ve lost their own lives.” 

Investigators are still attempting to determine the cause of the blaze, but are currently treating it as suspicious, and police are following several lines of inquiry. Guards are expected to remain at the scene overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of background - I was bullied myself throughout most of my school years (although never to the degree that Hermione experiences). It had a profound and long-lasting affect on me, as you can imagine, and it took me many years to rebuild my confidence and sense of self-worth, so writing this was quite cathartic. With the advent of smartphones that are always connected to the internet, bullying can be even more far-reaching and damaging than before, as it can be disseminated so quickly. And once something's on the internet, it's there forever.
> 
> Seriousness aside, I also wanted to pay homage to Carrie, by Stephen King - he's one of my favourite authors and has been since I was a teenager, and that novel was the inspiration for this story. I also love horror movies and tv series, and wanted to nod to some of my favourites. Did you recognise any?
> 
> As well as a couple of references to Carrie (of course!) there were also references to:
> 
> Friday the 13th (Jason Voorhees)  
> American Horror Story - 1984 (TV Series)  
> The Blair Witch Project
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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